


Touch Me If You're Real

by TrashKat



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-True Ending, van sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:45:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11643018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashKat/pseuds/TrashKat
Summary: Akira is standing there, leaning on the railing overlooking the parking lot below and staring off at nothing in particular. Ryuji pauses for a moment and shifts on his feet. He swears he’ll say it this time, he’ll ignore the sinking feeling in his gut and just ask Akira what the hell is going on.Akira is leaving and Ryuji can't sleep.





	Touch Me If You're Real

Ryuji was by no means a light sleeper, but in the past three months he had woken up in the middle of the night more times than he could count, with a hollow ache in his chest that just wouldn’t go away. At first he had tried to ignore it and wait for it to go away on its own, but several sleepless nights of tossing and turning later he had realized that it wasn’t going to be that simple. He’d feel jittery all over, like raw energy was racing up and down his spine and trying to find a way out. It could never settle either, no matter how much time he spent at the gym, running until he couldn’t even support his own weight. It would pool in his stomach and churn until he couldn’t even think, could hardly focus on what was right in front of his face—a fact his teachers were quick to pick up on and yell at him for.

He had thought that maybe getting Akira back would fix it. And, those first couple nights when Akira was finally back where he belonged, it did. But then it was back again, and Akira was leaving, and Ryuji could hardly even breathe. He was a runner, sure, but even he couldn’t outrun this. And being stuck in a cramped van with six other people—and one cat—was pushing the limits of Ryuji’s sanity. He bounced his good leg up and down and fiddled with his seatbelt; Ann had already scolded him for it four separate times that day, but Ryuji just couldn’t sit still. So naturally, he wakes up that night with a groan and the familiar surge of restless anxiety tingling under his skin.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me…”

They were staying the night in a small roadside motel just off of the nearest highway, and through the faint light of the streetlamps outside Ryuji could just about make out the form of Yusuke curled up on the other bed nearby. Morgana is wrapped around his head like some kind of weird brain-sucking alien, and Ryuji would laugh if his own brain didn’t feel so much like soup. He rolls over onto his side with a heavy sigh and stares at the cheap wallpaper. The realization comes to him suddenly, like shattering ice—Akira isn’t there. Ryuji blinks slowly, attempting to clear the fog from his mind, but his best friend’s sleeping form is still gone.

Ryuji sits up and, as quietly as possible, shuffles past the bed Yusuke and Morgana are sleeping on to reach the door. Still barefoot, he steps outside onto the outdoor walkway and hisses at the cold night air that blows through his loose pajama shirt and pants. The sky is clear and alight with a splash of glittering stars—it’s hard to believe that a mere three months ago they had been responsible for stopping a god and bringing back the sky itself. Sometimes none of it feels real, like maybe he’s just drifting in one endlessly twisting dream, and at those times he clings to his friends, desperate to know that they too had been there, that he isn’t going to wake up one morning with everything gone and a year of important memories reduced to lies and dust. He wonders if any of them feel the same.

Ryuji doesn’t have to search long to find him. Akira is standing there, leaning on the railing overlooking the parking lot below and staring off at nothing in particular. Ryuji pauses for a moment and shifts on his feet. He swears he’ll say it this time, he’ll ignore the sinking feeling in his gut and just ask Akira what the hell is going on. He even practices mouthing the words, takes a deep breath and everything before he approaches. He leans against the railing next to him, an arm’s length away, and clears his throat. If Akira is startled by Ryuji’s sudden appearance next to him, he doesn’t show it. In that slow, deliberate manner of his—the one Ryuji finds more and more maddening with each passing day—he turns and nods in greeting.

Ryuji’s mouth hangs open for a second before he manages to ask, “What’re you doing up?”

“Just thinking,” Akira replies.

Ryuji frowns. It feels as though Akira is pushing him away on purpose— _has_ been for some time now—and he can’t for the life of him figure out why. “What about?”

Akira shrugs and coils a strand of hair around his finger. “I think Morgana might be trying to kill Yusuke in his sleep.”

It’s a diversion, but Ryuji snorts anyways. “You talkin’ from experience?”

“That time was a close call,” Akira says flatly, and Ryuji rolls his eyes.

“Dude, I’m pretty sure you’d be fine. You’re literally just invincible at this point.”

Akira’s lips quirk upwards, but it doesn’t last for long. His gaze flickers away, back to the nearly empty parking lot, and suddenly Ryuji thinks he might be in way over his head. The air is heavy and he’s sure Akira is going to vanish any moment now. He kind of just wants to run, if he’s being totally honest.

“Hey,” Ryuji starts, and suddenly his mouth is very dry. “Do you… maybe want to go for a drive or something?”

Akira glances at him with raised eyebrows and he _definitely_ wants to run now. He hadn’t even meant to say that, but the van is right there in the damn parking lot and he hadn’t been able to think of anything smart to say in the first place.

“We don’t have to,” Ryuji says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just thought it’d be nice but if you’d rather—”

“Sure,” Akira says, effectively cutting him off.

Ryuji blinks. “What?”

“Let’s go,” Akira motions in the direction of the van and Ryuji’s mouth gapes.

He ends up trailing after his best friend as he leads the way down the stairs and out to the practically abandoned parking lot below. There’s something ethereal about the silence that wraps around them, and Ryuji thinks _he_ might fade away too. When Akira reaches for the driver’s seat door, a sudden wild energy races through Ryuji and he rushes to stop him.

“Let me drive,” Ryuji offers as explanation when Akira fixes him with a look of concern and confusion.

Akira pauses and Ryuji’s heart races, but he’s going to try and do this properly. If Ryuji can do this one thing, break down this one barrier, then he damn well will. Eventually, Akira pulls away and heads for the passenger side instead.

“Where are we going?” Akira asks.

Ryuji shrugs. “I’m not really sure.”

Akira doesn’t say anything to that, so Ryuji starts up the van and pulls out of the parking lot. The roads are empty, eerily quiet except for the sound of the van’s tires against the concrete. Ryuji watches Akira out of the corner of his eye; he’s leaning against the door and staring out the window, watching the shapeless scenery pass by. He taps his fingers nervously against the steering wheel and chews his lip, wondering why everything is suddenly so hard.

He hadn’t really meant to, but without thinking Ryuji finds himself driving to the ocean vista just down the highway. There’s a small parking lot off to the side of the road, and Ryuji pulls into it with a faint sensation of dread creeping down his spine. When he kills the van’s engine, the silence that falls between them is suffocating.

“What’s on your mind?” Akira breaks the silence, and Ryuji’s breath catches in his throat.

Akira’s gaze is fixed entirely on him, his glasses flashing from the headlights of a passing car. Ryuji blanches. He’s seen that look before, been on the receiving end plenty of times before, and it usually means that Akira means to _do_ something in that way of his that leaves Ryuji awestruck and thankful and aching.

“You know you can tell me anything,” Akira says, and Ryuji struggles to push down the frustration building inside him.

“It just feels wrong sometimes,” Ryuji admits finally, staring down at his lap.

Akira hums, a low quiet noise that makes no damn sense and yet it still manages to put him at ease.

“Like shit, we took down a freakin’ god! And now we’re just… not.”

“Yeah,” Akira agrees.

“And you’re going home too,” Ryuji adds, watching Akira’s face carefully. He sees it for a single moment—the slightest of twitches at Akira’s bottom lip and the way his eyes widen momentarily before he blinks hard to chase the feelings away.

“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” Akira asks, and suddenly with a great wash of realization some of the tension in Ryuji’s chest snaps.

“Stop doing that.”

Akira looks genuinely taken aback by Ryuji’s words, but Ryuji refuses to back down, too sick of the frustration that’s been building in his heart ever since Akira first stepped foot back in LeBlanc. Since he first revealed that he was leaving.

“Stop actin’ like this doesn’t involve you! Like you ain’t the one who’s been gone, or the one who’s leaving!” Ryuji snaps.

Akira pauses before replying, “Sorry.”

Akira isn’t meeting his gaze anymore, and Ryuji can’t help himself. He sighs, “Shit man, I don’t need an apology. But how am I supposed to get my turn to be your friend and help you if you ain’t gonna talk to me?”

Akira stays silent, and a knot twists in Ryuji’s stomach.

“Oh,” Ryuji breathes. He’d wondered if it was the case, but it still hurt anyways. “My bad… yeah.” He shifts away and gazes dazedly at the steering wheel, all his wound up energy fading away to be replaced by a horrible sinking feeling. He feels stupid, like he should have seen it coming.

“Ryuji,” Akira says, but Ryuji isn’t ready to listen to more.

“Its fine, I get it,” Ryuji says, even if it isn’t. “Should’ve realized sooner, yeah? Don’t worry, I get it now so—”

“Ryuji,” Akira repeats, firmer this time, and Ryuji falls silent. “What are you talking about?”

Ryuji can’t believe Akira is going to make him say it out loud. Uncomfortably, he grumbles, “You should’ve just told me you didn’t want to be friends anymore, it’s not like I would’ve done anything to you or—”

“What?” Akira says, with such an utter look of confusion that Ryuji can’t help but waver, taken aback by such a blatant display of emotion on his face. “ _No_. That’s not it at all.”

“You don’t need to lie about it, I—”

“I’m not,” Akira interrupts him almost instantly, and Ryuji’s mouth hangs open, the rest of the words dying on his tongue.

He must be making some sort of face, because Akira frowns and pins him with this _look_ that has Ryuji’s skin tingling all over again. They stare at each other in the silence before Akira finally sighs and leans in. Ryuji’s skin burns, and when Akira closes the distance and presses their lips together Ryuji ignites.

It’s nothing fancy. Akira’s glasses bump against Ryuji’s face as they kiss, and their lips stay gently pressed together for only a few brief seconds before Akira pulls away. He looks so vulnerable, staring at Ryuji’s lips and looking for all the world like he’s just stolen some kind of priceless treasure.

“ _Oh_ ,” He manages to gasp out, and that gets a slight smile out of Akira that makes Ryuji’s heart race even faster.

“Sorry,” Akira says, “I should have asked first.”

“No!” Ryuji exclaims, and Akira jumps. “I mean… I liked it.”

It was hard to tell in the dark, but Ryuji could swear that Akira was blushing. “Then, can I do it again?” He asks, and Ryuji hardly has to nod before Akira is back in his space, sliding his fingers along his jaw and kissing him again.

This time, Akira’s lips part and Ryuji follows suit, deepening the kiss with a low moan in the back of his throat. Akira’s glasses bump against his face again, and he’s not sure when it happened, but Akira’s hands have found their way into his hair and the sensation of his fingertips curling and running along his scalp is nearly enough to stop his heart. Akira brushes his tongue just right and Ryuji practically keens, melting into the feeling of warmth pooling in his gut. When they pull apart for air, Ryuji reaches for Akira’s glasses and carefully pulls them off. Akira blinks at him, lips slightly parted and vibrantly red, and Ryuji is kissing him again within moments.

Akira’s quiet grunt of surprise is muffled, and Ryuji makes no reservations about exploring every part of Akira’s mouth. That desperate energy is back, begging to be released, and he sees nothing but Akira, the guy who saw him and reached out when no one else would.

They kiss like that for a while, running their hands through each other’s hair and continuing to press closer together. Eventually, Akira topples backwards and his back hits the passenger door. He grunts again and Ryuji pulls back instantly.

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” Akira replies slowly, dazed. “Hey, Ryuji?”

Ryuji hums, the noise going straight to Akira’s groin in a way he’d only ever dreamed about.

“Can I try something?”

Ryuji tilts his head to one side, and Akira is convinced it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Try what?”

Akira bites his lip nervously and fumbles for the glove compartment. Ryuji watches him, curious, as Akira reaches in and feels around for a something which he pulls out with a careful, hesitant delicacy. Ryuji stares.

Akira holds a simple pair of police handcuffs in his outstretched hand. There’s something about the way he’s looking at them that makes Ryuji pause. He hardly recognizes the expression for how out of place it is on Akira’s usually calm, stoic face.

“Are those handcuffs?” Ryuji asks the obvious.

Akira nods. “I want you to wear them.”

Ryuji nearly chokes on air and he struggles to get himself back under control. “Why?”

“I want to show you,” Akira says, and when it’s clear Ryuji doesn’t get it he adds, “What’s been on my mind recently.”

Ryuji’s mouth forms a small ‘o’. He has to admit, he’s curious as hell, and it doesn’t help that the thought of Akira handcuffing him sends a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Ok,” Ryuji agrees, and a flash of relief crosses Akira’s face.

“Ok,” Akira echoes. “Then… come over here.”

Ryuji does as he’s told and slides across the van’s front seat until he’s pressed against Akira’s shoulder. He can’t help but ask, “Do I even want to know what those are doing in there?”

“Makoto,” Akira replies, and Ryuji decides he definitely does _not_ want to know. “Now, give me one of your hands.”

Ryuji does, and Akira reaches out to wrap his fingers around Ryuji’s wrist. He’d always noticed that they were long and slender, but he’s surprised by how soft they were. He lets Akira tug his hand further forward and then suddenly, with a loud click, the cool metal of the handcuffs is pressing against his skin. He sucks in a breath, taking in the sensation, as Akira releases his hold.

“You good?” Akira asks, and Ryuji nods. “Ok, hands behind your back.”

Akira leans in close and maneuvers Ryuji’s hands until they’re in the right position. Then, the handcuffs close around his other wrist and they tighten until the metal fits snuggly against the skin of his wrists. Ryuji tests the restraints carefully, but they don’t give.

“How is it?” Akira asks. “Too tight?”

“It’s fine,” Ryuji says.

Akira pauses, his gaze raking across Ryuji’s body before searching his face. The way he finally smiles is reassuring, even if it is brief. Ryuji could spend hours getting lost in that look, but Akira doesn’t give him the chance. His hands come to rest on Ryuji’s shoulders, and he swings one leg over Ryuji’s lap, so he’s propped up on his knees with Ryuji caught in between them. He settles gently onto Ryuji’s lap and leans in, until his breath rustles through Ryuji’s hair. Ryuji shivers and tries not to squirm too much, because Akira is so _close_ and he’s not sure he could take it if they started moving.

Akira’s hands slide up Ryuji’s shoulders, tracing his collarbone and ghosting up his neck until they cup his cheeks. He starts to pepper Ryuji’s face with soft kisses: the crown of his head, his jaw, and the side of his lips. Ryuji wants to chase his lips but Akira’s hands hold him in place, tilting his head this way and that when he wants better access to his neck, or a different angle on his temples.

“A-Akira,” Ryuji gasps when he catches the bottom of his lip.

“You’re amazing, Ryuji,” Akira mumbles between kisses, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

“How long is that?” Ryuji asks, barely keeping the quiver out of his voice.

“Since Christmas…”

Ryuji’s mouth gapes. “Wha—”

Akira takes the opportunity to cover Ryuji’s mouth with his own, and Ryuji lets out a muffled yelp of surprise. His hands slide down from the side of Ryuji’s face and skim across his sides before settling around his waist. Warmth radiates from the places Akira has touched, and he shakes slightly as the heat continues to pool in his gut. Akira does what he pleases with his mouth, and when he shifts to get better access his hips roll dangerously close to Ryuji’s and Ryuji can’t help but unabashedly moan into the kiss. When Akira finally pulls away, Ryuji’s head is spinning and fuzzy and his whole body burns with desperate heat. He groans and buries his face in Akira’s shoulder. He doesn’t even need to see himself to know his entire face must be flushed red from embarrassment and need.

“Are you all right?” Akira asks as his hands slide down and he massages small circles into the muscles of Ryuji’s thighs with his thumbs. “If it’s too much—”

Ryuji shakes his head insistently. He takes a deep breath and mumbles through the fabric of Akira’s shirt, “Is that all you’ve wanted to do?”

Akira’s fingers still and Ryuji can feel the way his shoulders tense. “I started to think I’d never see you again,” Akira whispers, his voice low and raw. His breath is warm against Ryuji’s ear and he shivers. “I couldn’t do _anything_ ,” Akira mumbles and his hands start to move again, sliding up along Ryuji’s thighs and hooking under the waist of his boxers, tugging them down. “Every day I couldn’t touch you, I thought I might…”

Ryuji gasps when Akira wraps one hand around his cock, freeing it from his boxers. His hands tug fruitlessly at the handcuffs and he nearly sobs at the overwhelming _need_ that pulses in his veins. “Go insane?” Ryuji manages to choke out, and he feels Akira nod. He’s a bit stunned now, and very dizzy—Akira’s hand is on his cock and _shit_ he’s not even moving it yet, just holding him there and it already feels so good—but he manages to grumble, “Yeah, I think I get it…”

Akira laughs, shaky, and it’s dumb but so is Ryuji. He grins, sinking deep into the warm feeling of Akira’s trembling shoulders, of Akira’s happiness, because of him. Courage trickles through his body alongside the heat, and he lifts his head slightly to wrap his lips around the base of Akira’s vulnerable neck.

“A-Ah!” Akira gasps and the hand wrapped around Ryuji’s cock squeezes in surprise. Ryuji jolts from the sudden pressure, keening against Akira’s skin. It’s too much, but not enough and Ryuji is getting desperate, every inch of his body not in contact with Akira touch-starved and craving more. He rocks his hips and bites down on Akira’s neck, practically begging.

“Shit, Ryuji,” Akira breathes and cranes his neck for more. This is the first time Ryuji’s seen Akira so undone, and after everything they’ve been through together it’s because of _this_. Because of him.

“Akira, _please_ ,” Ryuji hisses. He can do little more than thrust up into Akira’s still hand in his current position, and the handcuffs bite into his wrists from all his pulling.

Akira’s hand starts moving and the first pump nearly sends Ryuji over the edge. He swears loudly and tries to buck his hips, snapping his head back to brace against the seat. “You good?” Akira asks, stilling just long enough for Ryuji to gasp out a strangled affirmation before he starts to pick up the pace.

Akira’s soft hands slide across his sensitive skin, and his long fingers wrap languidly around the base of Ryuji’s cock before he starts to stroke up, down, up, in a steady rhythm that has Ryuji straining and twisting under him. Ryuji squeezes his eyes shut and pants, can’t even force any words out of his throat as his mouth hangs open. Akira’s free hand starts to trail aimlessly along Ryuji’s exposed body, tracing his abs and running along the muscles on his shoulders. Then, suddenly, Akira’s teeth are on his neck and his hand is squeezing his cock and Ryuji chokes on his shout.

When he recovers enough of his senses, he swallows hard and whines, “No fair...”

Akira’s lips curl into a devilish grin against his flushed skin and he bites harder. His hand speeds up, alternating pressure and rolling his palm against the sensitive head of his cock. Ryuji whines and squirms, his cock painfully hard and twitching and so _close_. Akira’s full weight is settled on his lap so he can hardly thrust into Akira’s touch, and _fuck_ he wants to come.

“A-Akira,” Ryuji gasps, “please, I need to—”

Ryuji yelps when Akira starts to kiss him hard. He’s pumping him fast now, coaxing him to his fast-approaching climax. His heart is hammering in his chest and his skin is burning. Everything is Akira, Akira’s hands on his cock and tongue in his mouth, the faint taste of freshly brewed coffee, the smell of sex.

“I want to hear you when you come,” Akira mumbles when he pulls away, and Ryuji nods desperately, barely coherent.

His orgasm washes over him in one great wave that leaves his body shaking, heat and pleasure rolling through him as Akira milks him through it. Every touch sends him reeling and he can’t stay still, can’t move, can’t even think past the haze of bliss and the thought of Akira. He moans into Akira’s shoulder and then slumps against the car seat, all his muscles going limp as he breathes heavily to get himself under control. He faintly registers Akira shifting to move off his lap, his arms reaching around his sides, and the _click_ of his handcuffs being unlocked as his hands fall numbly to his sides. In that moment, he’d be ok if he never had to move again.

“Ryuji?” Akira calls, and Ryuji opens one eye, pupils still wide and dazed. “You good?”

“Better than good,” Ryuji mumbles and closes his eye again. A deep sigh escapes his lips as he sinks further into the car seat, and Akira chuckles.

“I like it when you’re laughing,” Ryuji smiles. “Sounds nice.”

“I feel like I should be the one saying that,” Akira replies smoothly, and Ryuji blushes. Stupid phantom thief charm.

“We should probably head back now, before the others wake up and wonder where the van is,” Akira says, amusement dancing in his tone.

Ryuji hums in agreement and slumps over to land on the passenger side of the seat. Akira is careful not to disturb him as he settles behind the wheel and starts the engine. The van rumbles to life and Ryuji thinks he could stay like this forever.

The drive back is heavy with contented silence, and Ryuji’s heart swells when he peeks through his eyelashes to watch Akira’s face. He’s feeling livelier now, and leans against Akira’s shoulder to curl a hand around one of his thighs. Akira turns to look at him, smirking with one eyebrow raised.

“You still haven’t gotten your turn,” Ryuji explains, his hand wandering higher up Akira’s leg, closer to the obvious bulge straining against Akira’s pants. His brushes his fingers against it, savoring the way Akira’s leg twitches at the contact.

“So you want to do it now?” Akira asks, though his resistance is clearly weak.

Ryuji grins. “Relax, I’ll do all the work this time.” To emphasize his point, Ryuji squeezes Akira’s cock through his pants, trying his best to stifle his laugh at the cascade of expressions that flash across Akira’s face.

“You’re awful,” Akira declares, but he’s smiling anyways.

“I missed you too,” Ryuji replies back. He feels like he can finally, _finally_ , stop running.

**Author's Note:**

> Ryuji is Best Boy why won't you let me romance him Atlas, why.


End file.
